


How to Care for Your DI

by Papa_Lazarou, sona007



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papa_Lazarou/pseuds/Papa_Lazarou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sona007/pseuds/sona007
Summary: Greg Lestrade is in over his head when four headless bodies are his next case. When a certain government official arrives and offers to solve the case and take care of Greg, the DI is suspicious. Should he trust this brilliant genius who seemingly knows everything about this case? And should he give in to the undeniable chemistry they seem to share?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Tumblr user @savvyblunders for coming up with the title. We love you.
> 
> Papa_Lazarou is Tumblr user @bokkle-oran-doove 
> 
> sona007 is Tumblr user @iwritemystrade
> 
> please check us out, if you haven't already.

Mycroft Holmes had been watching Greg from afar for quite sometime. He stood a few feet away from Greg at a crime scene. He watched as Greg studied the decapitated body, and started to formulate his own theories. Eventually, he stepped up to Greg, and softly placed his hand on Greg’s shoulder. 


	2. Chapter 2

This entire week had been madness. Four bodies had washed up on the river banks so far, all with similar markings of torture and drug abuse. And of course, all decapitated.

His team was on edge. No-one was getting any sleep. They ate when they could get a break and took short naps in police cars and at their desks.

Background checks on the three victims had not resulted in much. They still needed to make a positive ID on this body. Sally had confirmed that the last three bodies matched descriptions of three people on the missing persons list. Greg suspected that these were gang related deaths. But to prove that to his DCI, they would need hard evidence linking these three (and possibly four) to a gang. Or two rival ones. Greg closed his eyes and cursed. His head hurt.

Greg flinched at the sudden brush of fingers on his shoulder.

He stood up and staggered backwards, shaking off the man’s hand. “Who are you?”, he asked, suspicious. The stranger was dressed in a fancy three-piece pinstriped suit, a dark black coat and charcoal wing-tips. His fingers wound around the wooden handle of an umbrella. An outfit not meant to be worn in the mud, muck and general gore surrounding them, for sure. Even Greg knew that. In the dim glow from the lamp post, streaks of red gleamed in the stranger’s hair. He smiled, and his blue eyes crinkled around the edges. He looked strangely put together in the middle of this chaos. A fish out of water.

Greg blinked. His insides quelled and thrummed and his hands shook. In his exhausted, sleepless state, he wasn’t sure if it was fear or anticipation that made him step forward.

“Who are you?”, Greg repeated, in a tone less authoritative than he’d wished for. The man’s eyes widened as Greg invaded his personal space. His mouth opened to reply, but no words came out. Instead, the blue eyes surveyed Greg again, from head to toe, until the hair on the back of Greg’s neck stood up.

Greg frowned. On another day, when he wasn’t in the middle of a gory crime scene, he’d chat up this bloke and try to find out what his deal was. He had half a mind to keep talking to him and let his curiosity take over the rational part of his brain.

“You can’t be here”, he said at last and gripped the man’s elbow. “See the police tape right there? You can’t be beyond it, mate”. His voice was barely a croak.

The redhead frowned as Greg dragged him by his arm towards the tape. His eyes widened and his arm jolted out of Greg’s grasp, as if the mere contact had sent a shock-wave through him.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft pulled his arm away sharply. The DI needed a good rest and Mycroft knew he could supply that in bundles.

“I’m here to ensure you are well.” Mycroft explained simply. “And I’m able to bypass police tape, the same way you can bypass traffic lights when necessary.”

Mycroft walked to the police tape by himself, with Greg following in his wake. “I shall leave this crime scene, as and when you do yourself, Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

Mycroft watched as Greg’s face slowly furrowed trying to comprehend what was said.

“Over the past week, how many hours of sleep have you had? How many full meals have you eaten?” Mycroft asked. “Allow me to increase one of those numbers and I can help you catch the murderers.”


	4. Chapter 4

Greg ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he was hallucinating. Attractive strangers did not appear out of thin air at midnight and offer to take care of him. He turned around to check if anyone else was hearing this, but the forensics folks had retreated into their tent to put away their samples. Sally had fallen asleep in his car. Anderson was nowhere to be seen. _Why is no one around when these things happen to me?_

He held up a hand. “Okay, let’s step back a bit. What kind of security clearance do you have that enables you to waltz in and out of my crime scenes? How do I know you’re not in cahoots with these murderers? Who the hell are you?”

The redhead raised an eyebrow. “A concerned party” he said.

“Concerned about what, exactly?”

“You.”

Greg shook his head, incredulous. “Why, who are you, my fairy Godmother?” He asked, his tone biting. God, he was off his comeback game tonight.

The stranger cocked his head and gave him a curious look. His mouth curved up in an unbidden smile.

Greg growled. “Yeah, I’m aware that that makes me Cinderella,” he said. “But that’s not the point, is it?”

“Indeed.”

God, how Greg wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. When the man made no move to leave, Greg licked his lips and looked away. _I’ll help you catch the murderers,_ he’d said. Greg considered it. He didn’t look like a drug dealer and murderers didn’t usually come to their own crime scenes and offer the police assistance. Besides, he did seem genuinely concerned. Greg just didn’t believe the object of said concern was him. That’s absurd.  Strangely tempting, but still absurd.

“All right. How about you tell me what you know about these four murders first and then you can drop me off at home or at an all-you-can-eat buffet?” he said. “That way, my whole team gets to go home and get some sleep, not just me. My Sergeant’s already zonked out, the others are gonna follow soon. It’s going to be like the Walking Dead out here. Deal?” At least this way the man would leave him in peace. After all, what would he know about this case that Greg’s team had not already discovered?


	5. Chapter 5

“This is the fourth member of a gang to have died within as many weeks.” Mycroft decided to start off easy. “His street name was Lil’ Wayne,” Mycroft pulled a face as of saying the name physically pained him, “but his birth name was Wayne Steeples. He was not killed by the decapitation, but a drug in his system, I would hypothesize Chloroform used in excess. He had a tattoo on his neck of his gang. Three over-lapping circles, the middle one was turned into the face of a skull. Not very imaginative, but these people very usually aren’t.” Mycroft smirked at the shocked DI. “All four of your murdered ah… men were in the same gang that was working with Vice.”

Greg stood gob smacked.

“Run along, Detective Inspector, I do believe that consisted of all the relevant information you need.” Mycroft said, allowing a hint of smugness enter his voice.

“All but one. I’m waiting for a name… sir. Your name to be precise.” Greg said after mentally shaking himself.

 

“My name is Mr. Holmes. And believe me when I say that that’s all I’m legally required to tell you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I somehow messed up adding the chapters and we had to go back and correct everything. A big thank you to my co-author, the sweet Papa_Lazarou who put up with my shenanigans on this snowy Saturday. You have an infinite amount of patience, my dear! :)

“Is that so?” Greg asked, fascinated. “And how exactly did you come to these conclusions, Mr. Holmes? Our own forensics team hasn’t been able to identify those tattoos yet”

The smirk returned to Holmes’ face. “It is simple,” he said. “I observe.”

If they weren’t standing three meters away from a dead body, Greg would have laughed aloud. It was a fascinating theory, but one that fit in with the drugs in the victims’ systems. Plus, the tattoo he mentioned was a known symbol of the Peckham drug ring. By Holmes’ logic, these four were informants for the Yard’s Vice team and were being identified and killed off at an alarming pace. It was too much of a stretch, for sure. And yet, despite the nagging voice in his head, Greg knew he had to follow this up.

Holmes nodded, his face grim. “When you look at it from my vantage point, it really isn’t that outlandish.” he said, lowering his voice.

Greg turned to find a constable approaching them. “He’s with me,” Greg told the man and waved him away “And why are they being killed off all of a sudden then? We would have heard about it from Vice if it was true.” he asked Holmes, frowning.

Holmes wrinkled his nose. “And who is your liaison with Vice?” he asked.

Greg’s mouth fell open. His brow furrowed. _No_. It couldn’t really be that bad, could it? It couldn’t. Gregson was a mean bastard to work under, but he couldn’t be this messed up. Greg stared at the ground and dug his nails into his scalp, letting the realization take hold of him. _A Met officer working as a mole for the Peckham gang? Oh, this is bad._ “I-” he hesitated. _Fuck_. “I need to verify all of this with Forensics. And get the scene secured. The night team needs to be briefed.” He was thinking out loud. His mind reeled. “I’ll have to go talk to the Super as soon as I have evidence.” _If I find evidence._   _I’m way in above my head here._

This time, when Holmes put his hand on his shoulder, Greg didn’t flinch. It was comforting, the way it grounded him. “On the contrary, Detective Inspector, you will do splendidly.” Holmes declared. His voice did strange things to Greg’s insides.

Greg looked up to find the man’s face inches away from his own. He dropped his gaze from the blue eyes boring into his soul. If that’s what Holmes had deduced from one glance at a dead body, Greg didn’t want to know what the man would make of his own thoughts. He caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth and closed his eyes.

“You’re not going to do all of that work tonight, are you?” Holmes asked.

Greg shook his head. “No, that’s all tomorrow, thank God.” He mulled over Holmes’ offer again. _Lord knows I could use the company. Oh, what the heck?_

“Listen, give me half an hour, yeah? To wrap things up here. Then, you and I are going to go find the biggest buffet in London open at the dead of night. And stuff ourselves with junk food.”


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft nodded his head once, allowing Greg to leave. He went back to lean against a tree, waiting for Greg to be released.

Finally, as Greg ducked under the police tape, with a backpack slung over a shoulder, Mycroft detached from the tree and walked up to Greg.

“I know just the place.” He said mysteriously.

Greg nodded and followed Mycroft to his car.

“Jameson, take us to St. Mungo’s all night buffet, our Detective is hungry.” Mycroft called as he slid into the back of the car, and sat up straight.

Greg followed, he had never heard of St. Mungo’s, was it an underground place? Was it code for a quiet place for a murder? No, no, murder would turn up to a crime scene, he’d need to explain away the murder and deal with explaining the DI’s disappearance, there were easier ways. Plus, who sat that straight in a car of all place? And had a chauffeur?

Greg took a deep breath, subconsciously sat up straighter, and turned to the tall gentlemen beside him.

“Now I am no longer a Detective Inspector, but plain old Greg Lestrade, will you tell me your name?”

“You are never plain, my dear Lestrade. You are-“, Mycroft caught himself before letting something slip.

“I am what?” Greg asked, razing an eyebrow.

“You are generous man, with a talent for spotting the right antagonists.” Mycroft said, hiding a blush, “There is nothing plain about that.”

As Jameson pulled up, he got out and opened the door for Mycroft. Mycroft stepped out smartly, and waited for Greg outside the car.

Outside, Greg stared, open mouthed, at the building in front of him. It was quaint, but tremendously high class. It was a two storey white building, with black wooden boards making the windows and door stand out. Greg looked down at his own clothes, blood smeared and generally dirty.

“Will I be allowed in?” Greg said, seeing if Mycroft would laugh.

“St. Mungos is opened especially for us. I dare say they would allow a skunk in, if they were paid enough.” Mycroft smiled, softly.


	8. Chapter 8

Greg splashed water on his face, trying to ignore the attendant standing right behind him. Even the bathroom in this building screamed understated luxury. Marble flooring, gleaming ceramic sinks and mirrors bordered with solid mahogany wood. Greg had to check twice to make sure he didn’t walk into a glass door. He wiped his hands and face on a plush towel so soft he had to stifle a groan.

“Would Sir like a mint?” the attendant asked, his gaze fixed above Greg’s shoulder.

Greg accepted it. He probably needed it. “Thanks, mate.” he said and popped out. He ignored the numerous haughty-faced men who stared him down from their portraits. _Two lefts and a right._

“You have a private dining room?!” Greg gaped at the setup. Two servers waited on them, standing next to a buffet laden with breakfast food. “Christ, that smells good”. His stomach rumbled in agreement. He grinned at Holmes and did a double-take. “Did you change?”.

Holmes shrugged. “It is after eight o'clock. What am I, a farmer?” His blue eyes twinkled.

“Posh git,” Greg muttered and sat down, trying not to be distracted by Holmes’ long fingers curling around the stem of his wine glass.

“I’m glad things are to your liking”. The taller man’s glittering eyes were fixed on Greg’s face. “I must say, the absence of grime suits you well”. The waiters put the first course down and retreated discreetly at one nod from Holmes.

Greg chuckled. “Figured out the secret to my good looks, have you?”

Holmes wound his fingers together and rested his chin on them. His face lit up as he hummed.

Greg suspected that the warmth dispersing through his own chest had nothing to do with the piping hot liquid he’d just gulped down.

“I took the liberty of ordering some hot chocolate for you. Wine doesn’t go well with-”

“Oh, bless you! Pancakes!”. Greg took one bite of the chocolate pecan pancakes on his plate and closed his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that his last meal was sixteen hours ago, but _Christ_ , this was heaven. Greg moaned aloud and opened his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft stifled a smile, he had definitely made the right choice in helping Greg, both in his personal welfare and his working life. Mycroft took his outermost knife and fork and slowly started to eat his pancake.

“Careful there, Gregory, you wouldn’t want to get indigestion.” Mycroft said, as he watched Greg wolf down his pancake.

“Hmm, but they are delicious.”

“I am glad you are enjoying them. However, you said you were hungry, we have two more courses yet to come.” Mycroft smiled at Greg’s astonished look, “This is not a run, but a marathon.”

As soon as Mycroft had placed his knife and fork together, a waiter came back into the room, and took the empty plates away. Greg had been tempted to lick his plate clean, and he would have done, if he didn’t feel so utterly out of place already.

“Your second course shall be served in 7 minutes.” The waiter said quietly, as he back out of the room.

Greg checked his watch as it read 8:12. He noticed there were still blood stains around the rim of the glass face. Greg blushed at the slight, only to look up and find Mycroft watching him quizzically.


	10. Chapter 10

Greg undid the clasp around his wrist and put the watch in his pocket. He tried to dismiss the flush creeping up to his neck. “It’s nearly 1 AM, and this thing still says 8.12. I must have broken it and not realized. Plus, it’s got blood on it. Ah, it’s been a long week, hasn’t it?”. He sat up straighter and pressed his back into the chair, anchoring himself. Greg shook off the sudden mental image of his opulent surroundings dwarfing him. He clutched the mug of hot cocoa with both hands before raising it to his lips. _Steady_.

A line appeared between Holmes’ brows, and his gaze dropped to Greg’s hands, which gripped the mug as if his life depended on it. Awe transformed Holmes’ face. “You are oblivious”.

Greg opened his mouth to protest, but something about the other man’s gaze pinned him to his chair and left him speechless. He found himself panting, even though he’d been sitting on his arse for at least twenty minutes now. “Course not, that’d make me terrible at my job”, he said at last in a rough voice, wrangling himself free from its hold. As Greg wiped off his chocolate mustache with a napkin, Holmes took out a handkerchief from his pocket and held his open palm between them, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

Greg blinked. An abrupt image of him putting his hand in Holmes’ flashed before his eyes. He bit his lip to smother a grin and placed his watch in the other man’s grasp instead. “Are you gonna wave your magic wand and make it work again?”

Holmes shook his head, but the trace of a grin lingered on his face as he summoned the attendant. “You will get it back the next time we dine together.” He said and waited for the attendant to leave, watch in tow.

“Oh, you’ve decided that I’ll agree to dinner again already, have you?” Greg asked. The mocking grin he sported was at odds with the butterflies in his stomach.

Holmes’ face fell for just a second before he brightened and shrugged. “Come now, Gregory, where else would you get a breakfast buffet at 1 AM?” Holmes’ mouth twitched.

“That and the exciting company.” Greg folded his arms together and placed his elbows on the table, leaning toward the younger man.

Holmes raised his eyebrows. “You hardly know anything about me.”

“True. But you see, in my ordinary humdrum life, not many posh blokes turn up at my crime scenes and solve cases for me. And then take me to dinner. And make plans to meet up for dinner again, without even asking me”.

“Don’t they?” Holmes asked, his tone suddenly sharp.

Greg took a moment to respond. “Not ones that I find exciting, no".


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft rested his hand in the middle of the table, and watched Greg drink his hot cocoa.

“Why are you staring at me like this?” Greg asked.

Mycroft quickly wiped all emotion from his face. “Like what, Gregory?”

“You were staring at me.”

“Where would you like me to look? You are seated right in front of me.” Mycroft replied.

“I-“

Before Greg could respond, the second course came. It was two large plates of a Full English Breakfast. There were hash browns, sausages, bacon, baked beans, and a slice of tomato.

Before the waiter could leave, Mycroft asked, “Would you like to refresh your drink?”

Wide-eyed at the amount of food, Greg replied, “If you don’t mind, I would like another cocoa.”

Mycroft nodded to the waiter, who left the room, and closed the door behind him.

“This is ridiculous.” Greg murmured.

“Are you quite alright?” Mycroft asked.


	12. Chapter 12

“This is a ridiculous amount of food for one person.” Greg didn’t mean to complain, but that’s what he sounded aloud.

“You told me you were ravenous. Besides, you have not had a proper meal since last night”.

“Yeah, but still.” Greg grinned and tucked in.

He barely looked up at Holmes as he ate. By the time Greg finished, Holmes had failed to make even a dent in his own. Greg frowned at the bacon and sausages piled neatly to one side. The younger man sliced a piece of tomato and placed it in his mouth.

“What’re you doing?” Greg asked, confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you on a diet?”

Holmes frowned and lay his silverware down. His gaze was fixed decidedly on his glass. “What gives you that idea?”

“Well, while I inhaled an insane amount of food, all you’ve picked off your plate are the beans and a tomato slice. Either you have the eating habits of a rabbit, or you’re on a diet.”

“I… usually do not eat this late at night.” Holmes wiped his mouth and took a sip of wine. He raised his eyes to Greg and gulped. His free hand fidgeted, restless.

Greg’s mouth dropped open. He knew when someone was lying, especially a person as reserved as Holmes. “Hey, sorry, that was inappropriate of me. It’s none of my business what you choose to eat and how much. I’m an idiot who’s put his foot in his mouth. Ignore me.” He squirmed in his seat and tried to catch Holmes’ eye. “I mean, I agree, Lord knows I should start eating healthier, but you, you don’t need to diet. You’re fine.” he rattled off.

At this, Holmes raised an eyebrow. His chest shook with laughter as he spied Greg’s guilt-laden expression. “Fine, am I?”

“Oh yeah. Not fine as in eh, he’s fine. More as in he’s  _fiiiine_ ”.

Holmes narrowed his eyes.

“I apologize. I didn’t think it was possible to make that worse.” Greg said and laughed.

“Neither did I. Congratulations,” Holmes said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “That was impressive.”

“So, what do you do for work?” Greg asked, desperate for a change of topic. “Come on, you can tell me. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

Holmes regarded him from above the rim of his glass. “Ask no questions, and you shall receive no lies.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Seriously, Mr. Holmes, you process a crime scene in under two minutes, and proceed to tell me that my boss is a mole for a major London gang. You then whisk me away to some posh restaurant that you’ve paid to keep open at this ungodly hour. I don’t even know your first name." Greg shook his head. "How do I know you're not fucking with me?"

Mycroft sighed and reached inside his waistcoat. He pulled out a plastic wallet of papers, and a pen. “My name is Mycroft Holmes. If you really wish to know who I am, then you will need to sign this waiver. If you do not, then I can ensure you we shall never set eyes upon each other again.” Mycroft watched Greg frown. “And do not try to look me up on the police database, I am there but under a pseudonym.”

Greg eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

As Greg perused the documents, Mycroft slowly slipped the majority of his food onto Greg’s plate, leaving Mycroft with only the rest of his tomato, baked beans, and a slice of bacon.

Mycroft smiled as he watched Greg toy with the pen in his hand, before signing in all the correct places. Greg slid back the paper and looked shocked to find more food on his plate.

Without missing a beat Mycroft explained, “I have a PhD in politics and another in economics. I am an advisor not only to the Houses of Parliament, but also to Her Majesty herself. I also help out MI5, MI6, and GCHQ, when times are tough. Like now, with all the terror attacks. On occasion, I have aided America, France, Belgium, the European Parliament, and the United Nations on various matters of security.”


	14. Chapter 14

Greg settled back in his chair, trying to absorb all the information that had just been dumped on him. His instincts were right then, from the minute he’d met Mycroft Holmes over an hour ago. There was much more to the man than he let show.

Mycroft was extraordinarily intelligent, held a significant position in the country’s intelligence community and had a security clearance several levels above Greg’s own. Greg's mind reeled as he recalled the number of countries and agencies Mycroft had assisted. Mycroft’s actions affected how the world operated. And yet here he was, sitting across the table from Greg, sharing a meal and teasing Greg until they were both giggling like teenagers.

It didn’t make sense.

“That’s quite a lot of interesting stuff you do there, Mycroft”. Greg didn't miss the sudden rigidity in Mycroft’s posture at the sound of his first name.

“Interesting is one way to describe it”. Mycroft’s tone was measured. His eyes bored into Greg’s and his face went blank.

Greg's eyes narrowed. He may have signed the waiver but he still had a choice. He could walk out of here right now, pretend he’d never met Mycroft Holmes, convince himself that he’d thought of the connection with Gregson on his own. But it wasn’t every day he met men like Mycroft.  _Curiosity killed the cat, Greg._ Greg opened his mouth as he mulled over his decision. “Is it also part of your duties to review the Met’s cases, then?”.

A corner of Mycroft’s mouth twitched upwards. His gaze fell to Greg’s hands between them before he met Greg’s brown eyes again. “When I receive singular intelligence about members of the Metropolitan Police who are embroiled with a criminal syndicate, it is my duty to share that intelligence with the Police Service at the earliest possible juncture”.

Greg grinned. “Yeah, that’s not what I asked”.

Mycroft smiled despite himself. “I review and supervise the Met’s activities where they intersect with issues of domestic security, as and when required”. He sounded more amused than irritated.

Greg nodded, impressed. “And do you usually wine and dine lowly Detective Inspectors, as and when required?”. When Mycroft frowned, Greg rushed to clarify. “This isn’t a pity party, Mycroft. I’m just curious”.

Mycroft’s fingers traced the rim of his glass. He gave Greg a quick once-over, his eyelashes fluttering as he considered the question. His forehead creased and he licked his lips.

Greg stared at the long fingers, graceful even in apprehension. Maybe it was the exhaustion taking over, but he suddenly wanted nothing more than to bring each fingertip to his mouth and kiss it. Anything to still the slight quiver of the other man’s bottom lip. It was then that realization hit Greg like a bolt of lightning, making his eyes widen with shock. He wasn’t the only one operating on instinct tonight, was he? For a man whose job it was to know everything, Mycroft must find this lack of information-

“Excruciating”, Mycroft muttered. He gave a short huff of laughter and took a hasty gulp of wine.

Greg gaped at him, dumbstruck. His pulse was racing, despite the tired ache behind his eyes and the slump in his posture. He decided to proceed with caution. “I know how you feel, I’ve spent a big part of sixteen years as a police officer not knowing things. Facts, people, motives... they’re not always obvious, are they?”.

Mycroft nodded. He rested his chin on his folded hands and stared down at Greg. “And what did you with things you didn't know?”.

Greg’s nerves buzzed with nervous energy as he answered, his voice too thick to be his own. “Tried to figure them out”.


End file.
